What Fools These Mortals Be
by shilo1364
Summary: A mysterious banner shows up in the Great Hall, sending the castle into a furor of speculation. What is it? Why is it there? What do the tally marks that keep appearing on it mean? What does 'DM' stand for? Pansy is irritated. Hermione is exasperated. Ron is oblivious. Draco is annoyed. Harry is smug. Will the eighth years solve this new riddle?


_**A/N: Written for a discord chat drabble prompt**_

"For the last time, Pansy. I don't _care_ what you think. I don't 'need your help to get laid,' and I certainly wouldn't ask you if I did!"

Draco scowled at her, then retreated behind his textbook.

"But, Draco, darling," Pansy smoothed her skirt and sat delicately on the arm of his chair, eyes widening as she found herself landing abruptly on the floor beside it. "Draco! What in Salazar's name did you do that for?"

He turned a page, pointedly ignoring her.

"You know what? Fine. I'm certainly not going to help you now." She waited a moment for Draco to take the bait, then scowled and stalked out, heels clicking angrily across the dungeon floor.

If Draco thought he could treat her like _that_ with no consequences, then he was a damn fool.

She marched back up the stairs and through the courtyard, pushing through a crowd of gossiping second-year Hufflepuffs and sneering at those that didn't move fast enough. Annoying little brats, thinking they owned the place.

Her anger at Draco flared. _No one_ treated Pansy Parkinson like that. Not even her closest friends. She plopped down on her favorite bench, tapped her long, pointed nails idly in time with the gentle plashing of the fountain, and turned her mind to her inevitable revenge.

A slow, predatory smile curved her poisoned-apple red lips as the pieces began to slot together. A passing first-year squeaked and backed hastily away, but Pansy didn't notice. As devious plans went, this was one of her finest.

* * *

"Say, Gin," Ron said around a mouthful of bacon, "What do you suppose 'DM' Means?"

"Dunno," she said, glancing up at the large banner that had appeared overnight in the great hall. "Dark Magic?"

Ron's eyes widened. "Blimey. We don't need any more of that. Who would dare, after last year?"

"Nah," Dean broke in, wincing as he shook out his hand after a brutal round of arm wrestling with Seamus. "Nothing so grim as that. Maybe it stands for 'Dungeon Master' - you know, like in Dungeons and Dragons?"

Ron looked blankly at him.

"Muggle game," Ginny reminded her brother. "Dad was into it a few years ago, remember?"

"Could be 'doom,'" said Parvati, looking up from the empty teacup she'd been peering into. "Leaving out the vowels is a common method of obscuring—"

Hermione slammed her book down on the table, rolling her eyes. "Oh. My. God. You are all such idiots!"

"What do you think it means then, 'Mione?" Ron asked, shielding his plate from potential book-related danger.

She opened her mouth, then closed it, frowning. "What do you think, Harry?" she asked evasively.

"Harry?" she asked again, when he didn't respond.

Harry jerked awake at her light touch on his shoulder. "Hmm?"

"You all right mate?" Ron asked, grinning. "Got a bit of porridge in your hair, you know. 'S why most people don't sleep at the table."

Harry grimaced. "Thanks, Ron. Very wise of you."

"I try," Ron said smugly. "Anyway, it's not me who's trying to wear breakfast."

"Harry," Hermione said slowly, "have you not been sleeping well? I thought the nightmares had stopped?"

He looked puzzled for a moment. "Hmm? Oh, yeah, no, they're mostly gone. Just catching up on sleep from last year, I think."

"Hmm," she said, studying him closely. "And you've not been out wandering the castle instead of sleeping?"

"Oh, look at the time," Harry said quickly, grabbing his bag and a piece of toast. "We'll be late to potions if we don't hurry."

"Harry!"

He ignored her as he hurried out of the hall.

* * *

The mysterious banner was the hottest new gossip at Hogwarts. All the students and teachers were speculating about what it could mean — especially when the tally marks started appearing, marching irregularly across the blank parchment. Even the ghosts and portraits were whispering about it. Not one of the teachers had been able to remove it, and Filch stalked around the Castle with a scowl even deeper than usual, accusing everyone from Peeves to first-years of putting it up to spite him.

* * *

"What do you suppose it means, Draco?" Blaise asked one evening, as the eighth-year Slytherins lounged around the fire.

"Dunno," Draco said absently, frowning at his Arithmancy text.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

"You know," Blaise said, as he gazed into the fire, chin propped on his steepled fingers, "it could be someone's initials."

"Mmm," Draco said.

Blaise tried again. "I wonder if we know anyone with the initials 'D. M.,'" he said loudly.

A small knot of fourth-year girls tittered.

Draco rolled his eyes as he looked over the top of the book. "Oh, har, har. Very funny, Blaise."

Blaise inspected his fingernails. "I'm serious. Don't you think it's odd that it showed up the same night you royally pissed off Pansy?"

Draco shrugged. "Pansy couldn't manage magic that strong. McGonagall can't even remove it."

"Even so."

"Blaise," Draco sighed, "I really don't care. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish this chapter before tomorrow. Some of us need our beauty sleep."

"You are looking rather peaked. Have you not been sleeping well?" He lowered his voice. "Is it those dreams again?"

Draco dropped his book into his lap, exasperated, and Blaise's eyes widened. "Well, well. Who's the lucky girl?"

"What?" Draco's puzzled frown froze, then turned horrified as he touched his throat. He must have loosened his tie without realizing it, which meant…

Blaise smirked. "I know very well what kind of bruise that is. So I ask again - who is she?"

"None of your business," Draco said, flushing. "I'm going to bed."

"Well at least we know what the marks mean!" Blaise called after him.

Draco paled and ducked quickly into his room.

Blaise threw his head back and laughed. "Pansy," he said, "you're a genius."

She winked at him from her spot on the couch, where she'd been pretending to sleep. "I know. Still. I wish I could figure out who it is leaving our prim and proper Draco all debauched."

* * *

The next morning, the number of tally marks on the banner had swelled considerably. At the Gryffindor table, a stunned silence fell as the rumor winged from the Slytherins.

Ron sat frozen, a spoonful of porridge halfway to his lips.

"Bloody _hell_!" he said. " _Malfoy_. But who would kiss that slimy git?"

"Whoever it is, they're keen," Seamus leered. "Just look at those tallies!"

Dean whistled. "Merlin."

Harry continued eating his toast, not looking up from the scrap of parchment he was scribbling on.

"Uh, Mate?" Ron said slowly, as Hermione nudged him.

"Hmm?"

"Aren't you gonna, y'know, rail about it for a while?"

Harry looked up, puzzled. "No?"

"But… don't you wanna know who it is?"

"Not really, no."

Ron stared.

"Harry," Hermione said carefully, sounding concerned. "You did know we were talking about Malfoy?"

"Yes? What does that have to do with anything?"

Ron groaned. "Bloody hell, mate. You choose _now_ to get over your weird obsession with Malfoy?"

Harry hid a smirk behind his pumpkin juice. "Guess so," he said, shrugging.

He snuck a quick glance at the banner, and then at Malfoy, once Ron turned away.

Malfoy caught him looking and pulled a wry face. The smirk didn't leave Harry's face for hours.

* * *

Draco grinned at him. "This is the most fun I've had in years. Pansy is about to explode, and even Blaise hasn't managed to remain uninterested." He paused. "We're not going to be able to keep this secret much longer though. Not with this much scrutiny. I think some are starting to suspect."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, but when we finally do tell them, they'll all be so relieved to have the mystery solved, they'll forget to be upset about it. Pansy's done us a favor, really."

"When shall we tell them, then?" Draco asked nervously. "If you really think we should, I mean. Your friends—"

"Draco," Harry said fondly, "my friends will understand. Anyway, I'm pretty sure Hermione's guessed already. So… how about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Mm. At breakfast. We'll go in together."

"Together?"

"That's what I said." Harry pulled him in for a quick kiss. "Relax, Draco. You can sit with me. No, don't panic. I'll protect you from the scary Gryffindorks."

Draco snorted. "Fine. But we eat dinner with Slytherin."

"OK."

"What, no protest?"

"I'm sure you'll protect me. Just make sure you're between me and Pansy. She has claws."

'True, that." He yawned. "I should really be getting back."

"Stay," Harry said quickly, catching his arm.

"Why, Potter," Draco raised an eyebrow. Then he sighed. "I should go, though. They'll notice if I'm not there in the morning."

Harry shrugged. "Let them. They'll know at breakfast anyway."

"Yeah but… Oh, fine."

"Knew you'd see it my way. Oh, and wear my tie."

"Why?"

"Because I wanna see you in it. Anyway, you have said that Slytherin green matches my eyes."

~The End~


End file.
